


Lonely Singer in a Tarnished Cage

by Lightning_Skies



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 12:22:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1145936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightning_Skies/pseuds/Lightning_Skies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>2012 Christmas Fic Exchange </p>
<p>Set right after Sam jumps into Hell w/Michael, Adam and Lucifer</p>
<p>Bobby made a deal and now Crowley comes to collect what he's owed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lonely Singer in a Tarnished Cage

Bobby was deep into a bottle of whiskey when the self-styled 'devil' finally came calling for his due. It had been just over a month since he'd watched a boy he could have gladly called son sacrifice himself to take down the leaders of both Heaven and Hell in one heartbreaking nosedive. He wasn't the type to dwell on the unfairness of the universe, but Angels were supposed to be the Goddamn good guys. What was it supposed to mean for the world when humanity was the voice of reason while the super powers squabbled like children and destroyed everything in their path. It was a sad state of affairs when there was nothing left to believe in but themselves. Unfortunately, Bobby had lost that particular faith years ago when he'd had to kill Karen and he was still dealing with the pain of having her back for a short time and then doing it again. He was so deep in his melancholy and the transition happened so suddenly he almost didn't notice- one moment he was taking a pull straight from the bottle and thinking deep, depressing, alcohol hazed thoughts and the next there was a hand tailored, bespoke suit looming in his peripheral and a smirking face reflected in the amber glass.  
  
"Time's up, darling." Crowley purred in his ear. The hunter had just enough of his wits about him to make a grab for the bag of Goofer dust he'd kept at hand since he'd made the God forsaken deal in the first place. He was pulled up short when he felt the cold prickle of a razor sharp blade scratch under his beard, his fingertips just barely brushing the leather sachet. "Ah, Ah. None of that."  
  
The Crossroad King kept the knife against his throat as he shoved the bag over the edge of the cluttered desk, scattering the mix of graveyard dirt and ground snakeskin uselessly across the floor. There was an echoing howl and a phantom wind blew the dust away to settle pointlessly in the corner.  
  
"You don't write, you don't call. I was beginning to think you didn't love me anymore." Bobby spoke carefully without leaning forward, he might consider the world to be a hopeless shithole but he wasn't at the point of throwing himself on a blade just yet.   
  
"Hallucinations, nightmares, haunting growls beneath your window and clicking claws in every shadow. It's all showmanship, darling. Smoke and mirrors designed to impress the kiddies. You, though. You'd take it as an early warning and I do so love to surprise you." The knife at his throat disappeared, but before Bobby could do more than cuss harshly his hands were dragged behind his back and a silk tie was wrapped firmly around them and through the spokes of his chair.  
  
"I'm surprised you came in person to collect. You're not the type that likes footwork, always getting someone else to do it for you." Bobby sneered, "Did you lose control of the hellhounds again?" As if the invisible hounds were eager to prove him wrong, he felt sharp teeth clamp down on his shins, keeping him motionless.  
  
"It's so sweet that you think you know me." With a flap of his tailored charcoal jacket Crowley straddled the immobile hunter's legs and seated himself comfortably in the older man's lap. He casually fiddled with the knife, now revealed to be a switchblade with an ebony handle. "Why in the ever burning Hell would I send my darlings after you, knowing that you could stop them. You're a hunter. One of the best, most knowledgeable and well connected. You deserve special treatment."  
  
"I'd say I'm honored, but I'm not. Flattery will get you nowhere. I'm not buying whatever your selling and my credit's not as good as it used to be. I assume you're here to collect on that outstanding IOU. What are you waiting for, an engraved invitation?" Bobby leaned as far back into the chair as he could, which didn't amount to much more than an inch and tried to ignore the fact that this was the most sustained physical contact he'd had with anyone in a long time. His skin prickled with the hunters instinct that this wasn't a person but instead a demon here to harvest his soul for eternal torment. He had a lapful of evil, and he was in it's debt. Bobby didn't think he'd ever been in a worse place either spiritually or physically and he'd seen a lot of bad in his time.  
  
"So defensive." Crowley tutted at him, "This is because I don't kiss you anymore, isn't it? I had no idea you've felt so neglected, Sweetheart, but I'm here now and I'll spend eternity making it up to you. How does that sound?" The demon leaned forward and crowded Bobby even farther into his chair.  
  
"I know what you're owed." The hunter shifted uncomfortably. He was too old to deal with the discomfort of a sexual identity crisis the demon was apparently determined to force on him. "Get on with it."  
  
"You really think I'm going to just throw a prize like you to the dogs? Oh, you have NO idea. Your body may be old, but souls don't degrade through 'getting old'. Your soul is like a perfectly aged fine wine and the imperfections only add more layers of flavor." Crowley tapped the knife against his lips thoughtfully, attempting to define something ethereal that lay beyond the comprehension and senses of any human in an overly simplistic metaphor.  
  
"What are you a connoisseur? I never had time for that wine tasting crap. Alcohol's supposed to have a burn not a bouquet."  
  
"So eager to bring on the pain. I suppose you think with the life you've lead, you know pain." Crowley ran a thumb across the brim of Bobby's hat and let his arms drape over the human's shoulders. He leaned in to whisper intimately into his ear, "Do you know what happens to souls in hell? The full version, not the patented Winchester emotionless cliff notes. You lot think of souls as something that gets dirty with bad deeds, but they all glow so prettily with their inherent humanity and free will. Every. Single. One. All those shining golden souls go up on the racks and they are tormented and tortured and taken apart for however long it takes them to forget who they are and why they were ever saying 'No' in the first place. They slowly dim and rust and stain. All they know is pain and terror and so, in the end, that is all they are."   
  
"Every once in a while though, along comes a soul that is too stubborn to ever give in. Sometimes, there is a soul so set in its ways that even when it forgets itself, forgets love and hate and peace and pleasure and everything that it was, it will still remember 'No.' Those souls, those are the ones to pity. Eternal torment is real, Bobby-boy, and it WILL destroy everyone eventually. Those stubborn souls, that were once strong people just like you, they are tortured until they are scraps of nothing, wisps of destroyed once-was. That's where my hounds come from. Demons are human souls that have been twisted but still remember walking and talking and opposable thumbs; hellhounds are what's left when a soul loses itself completely. John Winchester was headed that way, but his boys broke him out before he could degrade. With Sam in the Cage and Dean-o turning his back on the world do you honestly think anyone would come for you? Do you think you'd have an out?"  
  
Crowley grabbed Bobby's battered old hat and dropped it to the floor. The grizzled hunter looked downright vulnerable without it, his ever present protective helm. He leaned back and stared Bobby straight in the eyes. "That's where you're asking to go, Bobby Singer. That's what you thought you were signing on the dotted line for. But- your soul is mine now and I will do whatever _I_ want with it, not what _You_ think I should. You martyrs are all the same. You think the worst demons can do is torture, evisceration and dismemberment. There are far worse things out there. Some of us… we can make you like it, make it hurt so good."  
  
Crowley licked his lips and dragged the tip of his knife down Bobby's temple almost lovingly. "You see, I've got this little theory. Demons are created from human souls that basically marinate in the juices of hell after they're given a good tenderizing by the locals… and they absorb whatever Hell's got to offer to fill all those aching empty places that have been carved away. They take that miasma and brimstone into themselves and make it their own, recreating themselves from their new environment. Like any child, they are loyal to their Mum, the fires of Hell become the nice warm womb that birthed them. Demons have no love for each other, but we are all more or less loyal to the motherland."  
  
"My theory is this. What happens if I don't send you to hell? What if I decide to skim a little off the top, and I… embezzle you, so to speak? The Big Boss is gone and everything is chaos, balancing the books is the last thing on anyones mind at the moment. What kinds of devious, terrible things could I do to you then?" His eyes burned a shiny blood red, and Bobby was surprised to realize he had expected black. It was the first time he'd seen the demon reveal itself under the man. Unlike other creatures who dropped their facade of humanity at the least provocation, Crowley was completely at ease playing his role as the sympathetic salesman and letting people forget his true nature. "We crossroads demons don't get to play very often, you know. We make the deals and get the credit, but it all comes down to company assets. We 'own' souls the same way humans might squabble over who the office stapler belongs to. I want to change that. Possession is nine tenths of the law and all that jazz."  
  
Bobby looked into the reflective red eyes as his alcohol addled brain tried to keep up. He had been prepared to fight off the hellhounds that would come for him and that didn't happen, so he steeled his nerve to at least face his grisly end with dignity before the torture and Hellfire, but apparently that wasn't on the menu either. "You… you don't want me tortured? You just want… what?"  
  
"I want something of my very own. I get lonely all by my onesies, you know. I want a pet, a companion… something. I want you to be MINE." Crowley's smooth delivery was uncharacteristically stilted as he stumbled over putting voice to something that had never seen the light of day before. This was sentiment the demon had never even risked whispering in the dark silence of the night when his hellhounds were his only company.  
  
"Now, I'm sorry to be a stickler for formalities, but you will need to actually die for any of this to work." Standing abruptly, Crowley slid his impassioned loss of composure behind his business-as-usual mask. He quickly flipped the switchblade with a flick of his wrist and slid it under Bobby's chin, swiping it smoothly across his throat. Another quick movement and he sliced away the silk tie as well. The hunter crumpled immediately when the hellhounds vanished, his eyes wide in surprise, but was caught before he could slide to the floor. Crowley cradled the dying man in his arms as he wheezed and choked on his own blood.   
  
They must have presented a strange tableau, the demon ignoring the bloodstains spreading on his meticulously kept suit as he held the trembling human gently. He had dropped the smirk for once and had a look of near tenderness in his intense red eyes as he watched the life draining out of the older man. "Shhh! Shh. It's okay. I've got you, Pet. You're mine now, forever, and I take care of what's mine. It'll only hurt for a moment more."  
  
Bobby just stared up into those eyes, mesmerized and shocked by the swift about-face from casual conversation to casual murder. He should have expected it really, it was obvious from the beginning what the demon was here for, but he was tired, a little drunk and it wasn't the first time the slippery little devil had tricked him, lulling him into a false sense of security by showing a hint of vulnerability. It seemed that it was a speciality of Crowley's to be constantly underestimated. Bobby didn't even have time for regrets as his eyes dulled and the surprised look on his face slackened in death.  
  
"There, now. Isn't that better. That wasn't so bad." Crowley drew the soul away from it's limp shell and looked it over, dumping the broken body to the floor carelessly. He had plenty of time before Bobby could adjust to being dead. His consciousness would be floating in a void right now, reeling in shock over his death and not yet adjusted to seeing without eyes, hearing without ears and speaking without a tongue. His soul was still liquid and shapeless without it's container. As he regained himself he would self define his shape based on his memories of himself, but not yet. The softly glowing soul was almost exactly what what Crowley had envisioned, stubborn and relentless with a strong core that would support it, but the best part was the gaping loneliness.   
  
This was what Crowley had been searching for. Karen Singer's death had a profound impact on Bobby, beyond the obvious grief and turn to hunting. He had lived with the guilt, grief and pain of her loss so long that it had been ingrained in his soul. The wound had scabbed over but with the recent actions of the most powerful of the Horsemen, the old hurt was freshly opened and bleeding once again. Even now, the ragged broken wisps around the edges of the hole her death had left were twisting towards him, investigating his demonic power. Constantly searching for something or someone that would fill the painful gaping hollow. It was fortunate that Crowley was such a caring demon and he fully intended to give his little soul exactly what it wanted. He cooed at the damaged little ball of softly glowing energy, allowing it to wind itself around his fingers,  "Aren't you pretty. You're mine now and I'll give you everything you need. I'll take care of you."  
  
He opened his mouth and allowed the crimson smoke of his true form to creep up his human suit's throat and spill over his lips. He sealed his borrowed mouth over the deep crack running through the center of his broken little treasure and exhaled, watching in dark satisfaction as scarlet smoke and golden energy twined together and bled into one another, tainting the glow a soft red without extinguishing it. He felt a deep awareness bloom in the back of his mind as tendrils of rose-gold crept into the core of him. Crowley smirked. He had done it. He had created something new that was entirely his. They were now connected on a basic level. Hunter or no, whether he ever remembered his life or not, there was no way for Robert Singer to betray or escape him now. Crowley finally had someone he could completely and totally trust and take care of, and wasn't that just a treat for a demon, especially one of his station. He had minions but they were useless, weak and prone to attempts on his life. This would be different.  
  
"Mine." It was a dark promise and threat and plea all rolled into one. He was a demon yes, but he hated the lonely feeling of being ostracized, outlawed and stalked. He loathed having nowhere to turn but to hunters. Trust was a luxury he could not afford, until now. He had always known you could only ever trust yourself, that was a lesson he'd learned in his human days. What better way to make someone trustworthy than to bind them to him, absorb them and make them a part of himself.   
  
Slowly, so he didn't pull apart the delicate new fusion he drew himself back down into his borrowed body, gently reeling in the caught soul. He swallowed carefully around the flow of red and gold smoke and felt it all settle somewhere in his chest. He put his hand over his borrowed heart, ignoring the cooling and slightly tacky blood and smiled in wonder. He could feel his pet pulsing against him deep under the skin. They fit so snugly together, wrapped up in a warm human body like a post shag cuddle on a plush mattress under a heavy comforter. He could quickly get used to the luxury of it. He had come a long way from being a two-bit tailor and refused to settle for anything but the best. He had shopped around for ages and he was pleased that he had chosen well with this one particular soul.  
  
"I've gone and locked you up in a tarnished cage, my precious Singer." He whispered to himself, and reveled in the brief surge of warmth that fluttered against his insides. This was the closest to paradise a demon like him could get. He couldn't wait until his other half woke up. The Crossroads King couldn't decide if he hoped his precious broken little soul forgot who he once was and innocently allowed the demon to reintroduce him to all the wonderful horrors of the world or if he wanted the hunter to keep his sense of self and challenge Crowley for dominance until he learned to submit. Both were deliciously appealing.  
  
Crowley took his time poking around the still cooling hunter's house, always ready to take any opportunity for gain. He gathered several of the more valuable books and artifacts, skirting carefully around devil's traps the whole while. Nodding in satisfaction he stepped over the fallen body once more without a glance and made his way out the front door. He didn't bother looking back as he sent the Singer homestead up in flames with a snap of his fingers. His attention was focused on an old photo he had found stuffed in the back of a drawer. He traced a finger over the smiling face of a carefree, younger Bobby Singer and chuckled to himself, "Lets go people watching, darling. I want to find you the perfect thing to wear."


End file.
